What’s in a name?

The story goes, in my house, that it was my Dad who picked my name. At first this fact was somewhat glamourised to me by both my parents: ‘Daddy picked your name out specially,’ my mum would simper at me, ‘he wanted the perfect name for you.’ Daddy (who I idolised) would nod, smiling proudly, and I was safe in the knowledge that he loved me far more than my little sister whose name he couldn’t care less about. It was only when I’d grown up a bit and was letting my parents know that; actually, my name was more trouble than it was worth, that the truth came out. Mum was deadset on calling me Orlagh, which my dad hated and wouldn’t even consider. Mum challenged him to find something better so he grabbed the Irish baby name book, opened it roughly at the middle and said something to the effect of: ‘here, that one looks alright, let’s call her that’. The name in question was ‘different’ and ‘unique’ enough for Mum so that was the end of that row and my fate was sealed.

So here I am, seventeen years later and I’m called Fionnuala (pronounced like ‘Fin-oo-la just to clear that up). At least that’s what I’m called in theory. In practice people I meet tend to squint at me, sort of shuffle around and say in a pensive voice ‘Fiona?’, hoping and praying that they’ve misheard me. I then have to correct them (sometimes two or three times) and reassure them that no, my parents don’t hate me, they just wanted me to be ‘unique’. And that’s the best case scenario. More often than not they don’t bother confirming with me that they’ve got it right, just start off a conversation addressing me as ‘Fin-ay-la’ or ‘Fin-oh-la’, or in fact whatever name they like that begins with ‘F’ and ends with ‘A’, letters in between of their choosing. Another favourite of mine is when I’ve just told someone my name and they look at me as if I’ve just announced that I’ve murdered their first born child. More polite people will just give the look and wait for me to repeat my ‘real’ name but it’s not uncommon for it to be accompanied by a particularly aggrieved (and often loud) ‘What?!’. Once they’ve got over their disbelief the classic response goes something like this: while giving everyone around them ‘she’s a freak’ looks they will say ‘Oh….well…that’s very…different,’ and walk away looking shellshocked.

Supply teachers are another minefield. One moment they’ll be calling names with not a care in the world, the next they’re doing a doubletake and looking at the register in horror and disgust. Silence will reign until I decide to take pity on them and just announce in a very slooooow voice ‘Fin-oooo-la’. In the good old days my whole class would do this in unison with me and then give the teacher the evil eye. Said supply teacher will then look at me with pity, shake themselves to rid their memory of the awful incident and gratefully move onto ‘Rebecca’. Others are more upfront with me. When I went skiing this year in America we all had to wear name badges, presumably so if we accidentally ventured off onto a black slope and died they could identify our bodies quickly and efficiently. Well, let me tell you, my heart sank as soon as I heard the dreaded word ‘name badge’ because they never end well for me. Anyway, my instructor took one look at my badge (which granted did say ‘Fioncilla’) and said in a world weary tone: ‘Do you have a nickname?’ Later in the week, after a few days of yelling ‘Let’s go Foo!’ at me he finally attempted my full name and sent me down the slope with a rousing cry of ‘OK Vanilla!’

Meeting someone for the first time can be disastrous. I remember my first exchange with my year ten History teacher going something like this: ‘Your name’s Fionnuala?’ ‘Yes’ ‘Fionnuala?’ ‘Yes’ ‘But you like to be called Nuala’ ‘No’ ‘So…Fionnuala?’ ‘Yes’ ‘Right’. This was followed by her turning away quite quickly. Looking back on that I could have been nicer, okay a lot nicer, but when it comes to my name I find it impossible to be polite after the first correction, especially when I’m usually being looked at like an exhibit in a zoo (though not in the case above, for a nice change). So, Mum and Dad, your vain attempt to make me ‘unique’ has instead made me rude, made me adopt the sarcastic tone that I’m writing this rant in and made me obsessed with bad spelling.

Ah yes, spelling. Several members of my own family have admitted to not being able to spell my name so what chance have I got with the general public? Over the years I’ve had such gems as ‘Floellla’ , ‘Fioncilla’ and ‘Finwhala’ to name but a few. And just think, I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me, I’m sure that some idiot will spectacularly misread a form somewhere down the line and I’ll get another one to add to my dartboard.

On the many occasions I’ve confronted my parents with this evidence and asked why in the name of God they couldn’t have just taken pity on me and called me Sarah I get the standard defensive response: ‘We wanted you to be special and you are’, followed by some diversion to get me off the subject. My parents have totally normal names and they just can’t appreciate what it’s like to have to spell and sound out my name to every single person I ever meet. Also, Fionnuala isn’t even that crazy (it is in a fact a real name, no really) so I feel even sorrier for the Peaches or the Romeos of the world whose deluded parents think they’re doing them a favour by burdening them with weird names. They won’t be thanking you on their first day at high school/new job when they’re getting the ‘freak’ look from their new classmates/teachers/co-workers.

If you’ve managed to reach the end of this rage induced sarcasm fest you’re probably wondering why I bothered to write it other than to make people feel sorry for me (if you don’t you obviously have no heart). I guess I just wanted to give you something to think about the next time you complain about your ‘boring’ name (boohoo) and if you ever have a baby, hopefully you’ll do it a favour and call it something normal after reading how angry and bitter I’ve become. Just think, I got an unusual name and look how I turned out.